


Feed the Starving Faithful

by EnRaa



Category: Transformers: Beast Wars
Genre: Body Worship, Explicit Sexual Content, Face-Sitting, M/M, Oral Sex, Sticky Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-08
Updated: 2015-08-08
Packaged: 2018-04-13 16:10:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4528533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EnRaa/pseuds/EnRaa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inferno treats him as if he were some precious deity. Who is Quickstrike to deny the mech worship?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Feed the Starving Faithful

**Author's Note:**

> This is a new AU in which Quickstrike was found by the Maximals instead of the Preds, so he kept his original coding. There will be at least one more where he actually has more of a part but I wanted to focus more on Inferno in this one.
> 
> Hope you enjoy it!

“Mmm… Hah… Not so fast… Yesss…! Just like that! Good bot…”

Inferno nuzzles affectionately into the Maximal’s interface equipment, watching the small mech’s chassis jump and smiling into the slick folds as the Fuzor’s ventilations hitch. These little reactions give away whenever he does something just right, and he can read his lover like a book. He presses his glossa to the puffy lips of the mech’s valve, licking a long strip right up the center and reveling in how that makes his lover’s leg twitch and jerk as the Fuzor groans long and loud, helm thrown back and backstrut bowing.

“Nngh, stop yer teasin’ ant bot!” Quickstrike moans. He’s trembling with pent-up charge, a state the ant bot is very proud to have reduced him to. He knows the little Maximal’s body well, from the sensitive plating of his inner thighs to the way his shoulder cabling knots after a battle, and he manipulates it with the gentlest of touches and only the most careful of sucks and licks.

His Maximal is something to be adored, not marked up and tossed away. Inferno worships him like some sort of deity, allowing the little bot to sit upon him like some sort of personal throne and please him in any way the Fuzor desires.

He is Quickstrike’s to use.

A Predacon through and through, Inferno is Megatron’s Second for a reason. Yet here he is, between a Maximal soldier’s thighs as the little bot rides his glossa like a pro, doing all kinds of things to his little lover that his Queen would probably terminate him for if he found out.

Though his allegiance is with Megatron, his spark is with Quickstrike, and Inferno never feels as free as when he’s pleasuring the small Maximal. In the berth, underneath his lover, he’s not a Predacon. He’s not a soldier or a second in command…

He’s a lover, who’s only job is to bring the most pleasure he can out of his Fuzor’s frame as he can and he does it well, wringing overload after overload from his frame until the mech is too tired to move.

That’s when he feels right.

And Quickstrike, though he would never admit it aloud, loves every klik of it too.

The fire bot is quite talented with his mouth, thrusting his glossa up into the mech’s valve and playing with all the most sensitive spots until the Fuzor’s thighs tremble around his helm and his hips jerked down into his lover’s mouth as he chases his overload.

Inferno never asks for anything in return. This is about his lover; Servicing the Fuzor is a sort of pleasure in itself, every mewl and moan a strike of pure ecstasy through his circuitry. He derives great pleasure just from being beneath his Maximal like this, allowing the little mech to bounce and ride him as he pleases.

Quickstrike isn’t selfish though, and after his first overload he’ll shimmy down Inferno’s chassis and onto his faithful Pred’s spike and ride it til Inferno forgets all about Megatron and the Beast Wars, til all he remembers is his Maximal.

The thought makes Inferno heat up, his spike straining against his cover but he keeps it closed until the Fuzor wants it. His lover shouldn’t feel rushed or like anything is expected of him.

Inferno moans into the mech’s folds as globs of thick lubricant begin dribbling out from the clenching valve and into his mouth, sweet as the finest high grade and making the fire bot equally as intoxicated. He drinks it up like a divine offering, taking a moment to savor it.

Only when his lover starts to whine, left on the brink of an overload, does he continue to suck and lave over the swollen anterior node atop the mech’s valve. Quickstrike’s hips jerk and roll into each and every caress of the Pred’s glossa, thighs tightening just a little bit around Inferno’s helm.

Overload claims the little Maximal, his backstrut going rigid and his helm lolling back as he cries out loudly. Inferno ups his assault, shoving his glossa into the mech’s valve and roughly stimulating all those sensors, prolonging the little Fuzor’s overload.

The fire bot drinks up every bit of lubricant that spills into his mouth, savoring every clench and spasm around his glossa as the mech comes down from his overload. He’s trembling from the ferocity of it, and pride swells in Inferno’s chest.

Slowly, he shimmies down the mech’s chassis until his valve is resting over Inferno’s codpiece. He gets comfortable before he begins undulating his hips, dragging the wet, hot folds of his valve over Inferno’s spike cover teasingly.

“Now let’s take care of _yer_ charge, Fire Bot…”

 

END


End file.
